


Resurrection

by Eledhwen



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Easter, Fic in a time of pandemic, Gen, One Shot, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23601541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eledhwen/pseuds/Eledhwen
Summary: The city is too quiet in these odd, odd days, and Matt cannot sleep. He has been out every night, prowling the rooftops in the shadows, but the sounds reaching him are sounds he cannot help with. The violence on the streets has stopped; the violence in people’s homes, he cannot help with, though he wants to.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	Resurrection

**Author's Note:**

> A fic very much of the now - Easter in lockdown, a strange time for all of us and, I suspect, particularly for those who would normally be going to church on Sunday, like Matt.
> 
> With thanks to anyone doing their bit to fight the coronavirus, in whatever way, however small. Stay safe.

The city is too quiet in these odd, odd days, and Matt cannot sleep. He has been out every night, prowling the rooftops in the shadows, but the sounds reaching him are sounds he cannot help with. The violence on the streets has stopped; the violence in people’s homes, he cannot do anything about, although he wants to.

Instead of the steady rumble of traffic, there is just the occasional roar of a motor. The subways are running, but less frequently, and he sometimes has to stop and wait for five or 10 minutes before he hears the A-train running down towards Wall Street, or the E-train heading back to Queens.

So now, after getting in from his patrol at 2am, he lies awake at 6, listening to the first sounds of Easter morning. There should be bells from the churches and the cathedrals. There should be the sound of children clamouring for chocolate. Instead, there is, largely, silence.

Matt gets up after half an hour and, automatically, stretches out tired limbs, makes himself a coffee, and turns on the radio. He turns it off 10 minutes later, because the news is not helping his mood, and goes to stand for a long half-hour under the scalding jets of his shower. The water gushing around his ears does not quite drown out the silence, but it is a start.

When he’s dry and dressed in jeans and t-shirt – for what is the point of putting on a button-down and suit when he can’t go to church – Matt picks up his phone and finds a WhatsApp from Foggy on the Nelson, Murdock and Page group chat.

“Hey guys, Happy Easter,” the phone tells him, in its emotionless voice. “Hope you’re staying out of trouble. Zoom chat tomorrow to catch up? Make sure you eat lots of chocolate.”

Karen hasn’t replied yet. Matt tells his phone to record a message.

“Happy Easter,” he says. “Nothing to report here. I’m all in one piece, promise. Speak to you tomorrow.”

He sends the message, and puts the phone down. Really, he wants to hit something, but it’s Easter Day and he doesn’t feel it’s right to go to Fogwell’s. Officially, the gym is closed, of course, but Matt has a key and nobody else is going there right now, and he’s more able than most to avoid encountering anyone else when he’s out and about. But not at Easter.

Instead, he picks up his phone and heads to the rooftop to feel the sunshine on his face. Sitting on the edge of the roof, legs dangling into space, he feels somewhat more at ease.

When his phone rings it’s a surprise, the more so as it’s saying “Maggie, Maggie, Maggie,” at him. Matt swings round so his feet are resting on the rooftop and answers it.

“Happy Easter, Matthew,” Sister Maggie says.

“Happy Easter,” he returns. “Is something wrong?”

“Why would anything be wrong?” she asks.

“You don’t call, as a rule,” Matt points out, “and we are in the middle of a pandemic.”

“True,” his mother acknowledges, but there is an edge of amusement in her tone. “I thought you should come to Mass.”

Matt frowns. “Mass? But isn’t the church closed?”

“We’re a convent, running an orphanage,” Maggie says. “We’re in our own social bubble. So there’s an Easter mass for the children, starting at 10. You could come and listen.”

Checking his watch automatically, Matt finds it is 8.30am. “I could,” he agrees, and mentally runs over the geography surrounding the convent. There’s a building opposite with a navigable roof and a fire escape.

He can almost hear Sister Maggie smiling down the phone. “Good,” she says. There is a noise from somewhere nearby her, which sounds like someone crying and someone having an argument. “Two of the children are fighting over their eggs already,” Maggie says. “I should go.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Matt says, and she cuts the call, obviously hurrying off to negotiate a truce over a chocolate egg.

He leaves his apartment an hour later, still in jeans and a t-shirt but with a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. Dressing as Daredevil in daylight would backfire, but he’s going to take the rooftops and the cane and shades would only hinder. Ducking down an alley, Matt stands for a moment and listens. Nobody about. He swings up to the roof and from there it’s a relatively easy trip over to the church.

Matt is a little early, so he makes himself comfortable on the top of the building opposite the church and lets his senses drift. Someone in the apartment below is cooking something spicy which smells amazing. There’s plenty of people watching television, playing video games, arguing with their families. It all sounds quite … normal, Matt supposes, although his definition of normal is admittedly different from most people’s.

His ears turn to the sound of children’s chatter in the church, and the quiet, calm tones of the nuns hushing them. Then the service begins, and Matt focuses on the familiar liturgy, the story of ascension, and redemption, and hope. Under his breath he joins in with the responses, breathing deeply to catch a hint of incense on the air.

It’s a slightly scaled-down version of the Mass, geared towards its young congregation, and yet by the time Matt listens to the nuns chivvy their charges out of the church down the corridor which links it to the orphanage, much of his tension has eased from his body. He stands up, and makes his way slowly down to street level.

There are a few more people out now, so he keeps his head down and his distance from them, but he’s no longer in the mood for parcour. It is better to be here, among the rest of humanity, even if separated by mutual fear of something hanging in the air.

That night Matt doesn’t go out. Instead, he sleeps. The city is still too quiet, but tonight, at least, he finds peace in the silence, and hope that one day – maybe not too far in the future – he will once again be deafened by the constant cacophony of life.


End file.
